Lyra Smith withdrew her hand back obediently. Her pitiful and honest look was irresistibly amusing.
"Your hand is injured," Morris Jackson reminded her.
Lyra couldn't feel much pain from the injury on her hand. It had been treated and didn't hurt, but the hit to her forehead had eclipsed all other sensations of pain.
She lifted her left hand.
Morris Jackson corrected: "Your right hand."
She lifted her right hand and looked at the properly bandaged arm, trying to move it.
Morris Jackson asked her, "Does it hurt?"
"No." She shook her head.
It not only doesn't hurt, she couldn't feel anything at all.
She hasn't seen the wound, so she asked, "Is the wound on my hand deep?"
Morris Jackson replied, "Yes, it's deep."
"But..." She slightly moved her wrist, "Why don't I feel anything?"
Morris Jackson suggested, "How about we open it now and check how deep the wound really is?"
Lyra stretched out her hand, "Alright, let's do it."
